Regret

Short story, I appreciate constructive criticism, or just criticism if you need to vent.

The elderly man, back ever so slightly hunched ran his hand up and down the rough redwood wall until his callused fingers rested upon a much smoother surface. There was a soft click and the lights awoke, blinking at first but then sustain the light that revealed the interior of the barn and its cherished centre piece. “There she is,” The old man spoke softly a nostalgic smile formed on his wrinkled countenance.

“She?” His companion, only just more than half his age enquired.

“Look at her,” The old man slowly advanced towards the deep red 1950’s, Holden ute that proudly sat in the middle of the room “There is a softness to her,” He said kneeling and running his hand over the bubble like wheel arch “A femininity that one could only associate with a belle,” He craned his head to face his son “I know you don’t share the passion I do but surely you can see my point. The younger of the men starred at the ute, straining to see his father’s reason “It’s hard for me to say, to me it is just a car,” The father nodded the same way he did all other manner of things; slowly.

“I guess to me she represents more. She is freedom, an escape, something I can love without fear of it hurting me, I suppose to you it represents naught,”

“Not quite,” The young man folded his arm, his brow stern “To me it represents isolation, rejection, a father that scared to raise his own son, this car torments me,” The old man was still, taking in what his son had just said at his own cumbersome pace. Eventually he rose and after another moments deliberation opened the passenger door.

“Get in, son,” The young man was opted to stay put.

“Where do you intend to go?”

“To the wrecking yard,” Another smile graced the old man’s face, but this time not a nostalgic one but one that had not before been seen by his son “To bury the hatchet,”